Obsequies
by SingleServing
Summary: After the Corpse Bride.
1. Prologue

Flittering. Rapid beats of dusty film. White puffs of smoke fall down from the night sky and land near a grave. They are butterflies. One by one, they gather together and now a woman sits there. Blue as the night's clouds. Eyes the colour of the moon. Withered bits of cloth hang from her body. A skeleton hand cups the side of her face. She sighs. Pearls of wet and sorrow line her eyes.

"It is good for them to think that I have moved on. To better things. It is _good_."

She was a bride. But no more.


	2. Chapter 1

A cough. Rustling of paper. The tip of a finger licked then turned a page. Drawings and words printed. Victor Van Dort took pleasure in few things, but sitting in his study gave him peace. Reading and memorizing the mechanics of certain insects. It was a new hobby of his.

Victor looked through the window in his room. A gray eternity filled the day sky. It made the town look just as gray. Reflections of the clouds on the puddles in the mud. It had rained the night before. The town crier walked cautiously around the main streets as to not slip in the wetness.

Eyes refocused onto the image of himself in the window. Only twenty-three years of age and he had already started to grow some white hair. His bangs were speckled with lines of gray. Victor did not remember exactly when that started to happen. He did not dwell on it.

The clock on the right wall chimed nine. The room swallowed the noise, happy to hear a sound. Chords wavered until the last striking tone died within Victor's ears. Grasping the jacket that hung over his chair, he wrapped it around his body and left the room.

Quick, sharp steps down the staircase. He walked past the opening to the living room, past the door to the left in the hallway and finally reached the kitchen. A half loaf of bread sat on the table in the middle of the room. It was enveloped in a nice white cloth. It immediately reminded him of Victoria. She always wrapped the bread in the same way. The same pattern. Victor took the cloth off and cut a slice with a knife. The bread tasted dry in his mouth.

Victor left the kitchen and walked to the front door. He took an itchy scarf from the hat rack on the wall and put it around his neck.

"Have a good day at work, Victor," said a voice from the living room.

"I will, Victoria. Good bye," said Victor. There was no reply.

Closing the front door behind him, Victor sighed. It was very cold out and his breath carried through the air. Victor put his ungloved hands into his jacket pocket and started to walk. There were many stores in this town but no many people to buy things. It didn't bode well for the stores most of the time. But, for whatever reason, the fish market had a slight boom in popularity and Victor was given a job as an accountant for his parents' business. They had a small building in the middle of town. It had two stories. The first story held the shop and the second held Victor's office.

A man was out front cleaning the windows. Victor recognized him.

"Henry, hello. Has father come in yet?" asked Victor.

"Not yet, sir. Some new orders came in early today and the receipts are on the counter," said Henry. His wet hands shook slightly.

"Thank you, Henry. And please, you don't need to wash the windows this early. Let's go inside," said Victor. He opened the door for Henry and they both walked in.

It was only slightly warmer than the outside but it was something. Henry went off into the backroom and started to prepare some new fish. The familiar stink of fish followed Victor as he went upstairs, receipts in hand.

His office was much like his study in his own home. Books scattered the floor. Paper messily placed on his desk. Victor walked to the chair hidden behind the desk and sat down. He put the receipts in a file and wrote, "Do this at some point" on it. Victor turned around in his chair and looked out the window. The sound of chopping could be heard from downstairs. It began to rain again.

"This is going to be a very dull day," said Victor to nobody in particular.

* * *

Rain slid down the panes of glass. A light tapping sound as they landed. It was dark outside. Hints of fog touched the windows from the inside. The light from the lamp flickered and its distorted reflection flashed orange.

Victor's eyes began to hurt and he remembered to blink. He got up from his chair, his leg muscles whining in disuse. He turned off the gas lamp at his desk and walked downstairs. Henry had left an hour before. Victor turned off any more lights in the store then locked the front door behind him.

The rain was hard and Victor pulled up his jacket over his head, scarf neatly tucked inside. A very brisk walk took him back to his house on the edge of town. The house was dark and Victor knew Victoria must have gone to her bed.

Once inside, Victor shed his scarf and coat and hung them up to dry. He walked into the kitchen. The bread was folded up neatly within the cloth again.

Victor was about to take another slice when he heard a rushed knocking at the front door. Bewildered, Victor walked into the hallway and opened the door. It was the town crier. His overcoat was soaked through and his face was a patchy red.

"Enn, please come in! It must be – " started Victor.

"I'm here on business, sir. I have some…news to tell you," said the town crier.

"Well, what is it?" asked Victor.

Water was gathering on the brim of the town crier's hat and it dripped over the front of his tilted face.

"Your father has died," he said.

The rain continued to fall.


	3. Chapter 2

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want."

Black umbrellas formed an oval around newly disturbed earth. A light mist floated down from the sky above and touched the gray stone. The wind swirled around the heavy coats and pants. Cold placed its fingers onto the cheeks and noses of the silent audience.

"He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters."

Thin lips and dry eyes. Green grass rose from the ground after so much rain. It surrounded the grave but stopped at the line of the brown dirt. The soil was damp and its smell drifted through the air. The very distinct smell.

"He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake."

Victor loved that smell. It tasted like nature. Like a humid rain. It soothed his mind. But looking at his father's grave, he realized that he would from then on hate the scent. It only smelled like death now.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."

He forgot his umbrella. Victor's hair was covered with droplets of water. It looked as if someone had sprinkled his head with little white dots. His hands were cold and his knuckles were red. They were clasped tightly in front of him.

"Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over."

Victor turned his head slightly to the right. His eyes enveloped the grave next to his father's. William Van Dort was not the first of the family to pass away. Victor's eyes were still dry. It almost hurt. He numbly looked back towards the pastor.

"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever. Amen."

* * *

Eleanor Van Dort and Victor walked to her home together. It was a silent walk and Victor was grateful for it. They reached the front doors and stood there a moment.

"Would you like to come inside and have some tea, Victor?" asked Nell. Her heart-shaped lips pressed tightly together. They were blue from the cold.

"Of course," said Victor, although he did not want to. He opened the door for his mother and they stepped inside.

It was quiet except for Nell's determined footsteps to the kitchen. Victor walked slowly to the sitting room and waited.

"Here you are, Victor," said Nell a few minutes later with tea in hand. It sat on a platter and every dish and cup were neatly arranged. She set it down on a small table and Victor leaned down and picked up a saucer and teacup.

They stood there silently and sipped their tea. Steam swirled up from the brown liquid and it tickled Victor's nose. Eleanor suddenly laughed and Victor looked up surprised.

"Well, finally. I always hated that stupid man's voice," Eleanor said and sipped her tea. Tears were sliding down her face.

Victor stared at her with dry eyes.

* * *

Victoria sat in the living room and blinked when she heard the front door open and close. Victor walked into her line of sight and he brushed a hand through his disheveled hair.

"How are you, Victor?" asked Victoria.

"Well, the weather was rather gloomy. But appropriate, I suppose," said Victor.

Victoria looked down and began to sew what looked to be a blanket. The needle pierced the cloth and thread followed. "It has been rainy."

"Yes, everyone brought umbrellas. Of course, I forgot mine. Still, it was a nice service. And the family plot is in a nice place in the new cemetery," Victor rambled. His eyes drifted over to the door across from the hallway.

Victoria looked up when Victor stopped talking. She saw him looking at the door. "Well," said Victoria, standing up from her seat, "I am tired. I think I may go take a nap."

Victor stood silently as she left the living room and walked down the hallway to her bedroom. The door closed softly. Victor sat down in a chair and looked out of the window. It cast a pale light into the room.


	4. Chapter 3

The sound of the rain against a window woke him up. Victor's eyes remained closed as he exhaled a long sigh. His nose and ears were cold.

Eyes opened. A plain white wall stared back at him. Victor was alone in his own bedroom. Victoria had made her own bedroom in the guestroom a long while ago. Sometimes Victor would awake in the night and reach out by his side. When his hand felt the empty air, his throat would clench and he would quietly return to a restless sleep.

"It's never going to stop raining," said Victor aloud. He sat up in his bed and looked out the window. The moist air clung to the glass and it made it hard to see outside. It was a light rain but the clouds far away were dark and purple with storm.

Pulling the blankets off of his legs, Victor swung his feet onto the floor. The wood was cold and it seeped into Victor's skin. He quickly left his bedroom and walked to the bathroom across from the staircase. He grasped a pitcher of water and poured it into a white basin. Victor put the pitcher down and cupped the cold water in his hands. The liquid reflected the pale sky from the window. Victor brought his head down towards the water and scrubbed his face.

After he toweled off, Victor returned to his bedroom and dressed for work. Every day had been the same since his father's death. For the past three weeks it had been the same as any other day. Victor had expected something to change. But nothing did. He went to work. Sat in his office. Filled out forms. Added or subtracted numbers. Watched the town outside his window. Nothing different.

Victor fiddled with his tie as he walked down the stairs, briefcase in hand. As he passed the living room, Victor could hear Victoria sewing. The pull of the thread through the material. Victor never knew what she was sewing. He never saw any new clothing or sheets around the house. It didn't really bother him.

A black umbrella rested on the floor, leaning against the wall. Victor picked up the umbrella and pulled a scarf around his neck.

"All very much the same," whispered Victor and then louder, "Goodbye Victoria. I'm leaving for work."

"Goodbye," said Victoria.

Victor shut the front door behind him and opened his umbrella. It was sprinkling and he could barely hear the rain hit the ground. Victor started to walk towards town, but then, with a resounding "hmph", he began a trek to the cemetery.

* * *

The clock on the wall hung plainly. Its second hand ticked around and around, minute by minute. Rustling cloth. Pulled thread. Victoria sat in a chair turned towards the window. The glow of the sky outlined her features. Over the past couple of years, Victoria's face had become sharper. Her cheeks sunk in instead of curving out. Her eyes had dark circles surrounding them. Like Victor, Victoria did not sleep well either, but for different reasons.

Thin fingers pushed a sharp needle through the cloth. Victoria's hand reached under the cloth to pull the needle all the way through. A quick inhale of breath, Victoria tensed up. She raised her hand and a drop of blood slid down her index finger.

The sound of a hot kettle whistled into the living room. Victoria stood from the chair and put her needlework down on the cushion. She walked out of the living room, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. The kettle sat on the black cooking stove and steam blew out from its spout. Victoria grasped a hand towel off of the table and placed it on top of the handle of the kettle. She opened a cupboard and took out a teapot. Hot water poured into the opening of the teapot as Victoria tipped the kettle over. The steam tickled her nose.

Victoria stared at the water, deep inside of the porcelain container. The steam silently swirled around in the air and quickly evaporated. Victoria held the kettle in her hand. She stood and thought.

* * *

A glassy eye watched as a man stood in front of a grave. Its pupil black as night, its feathers shiny as gloss. The raven flew away.

Victor stood in front of his father's grave. The umbrella hung over him, his hand tightly gripping the handle. Already the first hints of moss collect at the top of the stone, making it look like it was hundreds of years old.

Victor cleared his throat, "So, um, Father. How is the afterlife going for, uh, you?" One of his hands reached nervously to his tie and wrung it. "I'm sure the weather is much better – oh, this is silly." Victor looked down at his shoes. They were scuffed and old, the laces frayed at the end.

A murder of crows flew over and passed his head. Victor watched them as they descended into the distance. His line of sight finally rested on the grave that sat next to his father's. It had aged mold on it and there were tiny cracks around the edges. It had been there for a couple of years by that point. The engraving read: _Charlotte Van Dort_.

* * *

Feathers slid smoothly across dark wood. Victoria brushed the feather duster across the surface of the chest of drawers once more. She moved across the living room, dusting various tops of things as she goes, and entered the hallway. She passed by one closed door, refusing to look at it, and opened the door to her bedroom down the hall.

Victoria put her hand on top of her bed and felt the material. It was soft. Leaving that, she dusted the surface of the hope chest at the foot of the bed. Then the nightstand. Then the chair that she would sit in during the middle of the night. None of it was lavish, although she knew that Victor could afford it. But she never asked for it, nor did she want it.

Finished in her bedroom, Victoria walked upstairs. She turned to the right and walked into Victor's drawing room. It was overflowing with books and papers. She began to dust.

* * *

The rain stopped for a moment and Victor closed his umbrella. He meandered around the new cemetery, looking at various headstones.

"So many graves for such a small town," said Victor aloud. He walked along on top of the grass. It was crisp and new, just sprouted from the rain. Victor looked over towards the bridge and passed that, the church. It was almost as tall as the trees in the forest behind the building. The stain glass reflected the sun that peaked out behind the clouds.

As Victor walked while he was not looking where he was going, he tripped over an uprooted branch from a tree nearby. Victor tried to put his hands out in front of him, but it was too late. Clothes completely muddied, Victor sighed. He rubbed at his eyes and left streaks dirt on his face. He looked up in front of him. There was a grave planted firmly before him. It looked very old and its writing was covered by years of grime. Victor crawled up to the grave and began to pull away the rot. As it cleared away, Victor started to make out what the name was.

Victor gasped.

* * *

Victoria dusted everything in the room except Victor's desk. She walked up to it, its stacks of books and papers daunting. She started clearing things away when a sketchbook fell down from the desk with a heavy thud. It fell open, face down on the floor. Victoria leaned down and picked it up. She turned the book over and looked inside.

Victoria gasped.

* * *

Victor's hands scrambled to wipe away all of the dirt and mold away from the lettering on the grave. Finally, the grime was gone and Victor could see the engraving clearly. He could not believe his eyes or what it could possibly mean.

The grave read: _Emily Galswells_.

* * *

Victoria slowly started to turn the pages. One after the other, the pictures were all the same. Faster and faster, she flips through the sketchbook. Tears blur her vision, but the lines of the drawings still come through. Burned into her memory. The very familiar wings. The stark whites, the brilliant hues of blue and purple. But especially the white. Hundreds of them. Thousands of them. All over every single page. Butterflies.

White butterflies.


	5. Chapter 4

The next day, Victor was already down the stairs by the time the clock on the wall chimed nine. Straightening out his tie, he walked past the living room, flung his coat around his shoulders and called out a "goodbye!" to Victoria in the living room. He shut front door quickly behind him and hurried off to the church.

Victoria sat in the living room. An awkward frown on her face. Her bottom lip protruded, she almost looked like a little girl. She gulped in a trembling breath, her face wet with tears. She clutched to the little stuffed bear closer to her chest. Putting her face down close to the soft material, the tears dropped and vanished within the bear. Its black glass eyes stared out at nothing.

Walking with a purpose he hadn't felt in years, Victor made his way to the church. Past the bridge, gushing water underneath, the church stood as the tallest building in the town. He walked up the stone steps, looking off to the side where there seemed to be a dead garden. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Victor opened one of the huge doors.

The pastor was standing in between one of the pews, closer to the front doors. He looked up immediately when Victor entered. Putting the broom that he was dusting with aside, he stood up straight and walked over to greet him.

"What a surprise to see you today, Victor Van Dort. Or any day, for that matter. When was the last time you attended a sermon?" said Pastor Galswells.

Victor coughed nervously and said, "Um, well, possibly last month? Maybe?" He looked up into the scrutinizing face of the pastor. "I haven't been very good about that, have I?"

"No, you have not. But He is rather forgiving, luckily for you. Now. What has brought you here today?"

Anticipation running up his spine, Victor slowly etched out his words, "Yesterday, I was visiting my family's plot in the cemetery. I then started to walk around and I noticed a particular grave. The inscription said Emily Galswells." The pastor's eyes lit up and Victor pressed on, "Is she related to you in any way?"

The pastor turned and began to walk back to the broom he propped up on a nearby wall. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Victor Van Dort, but I don't have the time to talk about stupid theories of yours." He picked up the broom and held it out in front of him. "Now, if you will excuse me. I must get back to work."

Victor felt a reply in his throat, but he kept it there. He grudgingly turned around, dismayed for more than one reason. The door shut with a soft thud.

* * *

Pastor Galswells gripped the broom's handle tightly in his hand. The wood felt rough on his skin and he felt tiny points of pain as splinters lodged themselves into his palms. Tightlipped, he set the broom down and walked to the back of the church. Walking through a hallway, he opened a plain door and it revealed a bare bedroom. A bed, a dresser and a chair. An echoed trill of laughter bounced off of the walls.

_"Aren't they pretty, Daddy?"_

_A seven-year-old girl looked up at him. With a smile that spread across her entire face, she ran around the garden. With the dark woods close by, the garden seemed the complete opposite. Large bushes of roses surrounded the little girl as she ran. Butterflies scattered in the air, some landing on flower petals and drinking the nectar._

_"Emily, hurry up and finish playing," said Peter Galswells. He took out a pocket watch and flipped open the cover. "My lunch break is almost over and I need to go back to work."_

_The little girl was too busy creeping up on a particular butterfly to listen to her father. Step by step, she neared closer, her tongue peeking out from the corner of her mouth. Hands outstretched, she quickly captured the butterfly. Laughing, she ran back to her father._

_"What have you got there?" he asked. He pushed his black hat up away from his eyes to get a better look of what Emily was holding. Carefully, she pried her fingers away and revealed a stark white butterfly._

_"Can I keep it? Please?" asked Emily gleefully. Her expectant face looked up into her father's._

_He knelt down to her height. "Emily, if you keep it, it will die. It needs to be free and live with the other butterflies. If you let it go, I think both you and the butterfly will be much happier."_

_At first Emily looked saddened by the news and shook her head "no." Looking through her fingers, she watched the butterfly, caged. With a sigh, Emily released her hands and watched as the butterfly fluttered back into the air. She laughed as it flew back over to the other butterflies. She turned back to look at her father, her face showing a look of understanding and joy._

_A door opened._

_"We found the body in here," said a faceless man. In his old age, Pastor Galswells' sight and hearing had dimmed to a terrible low. No one knew. "It's Barkis Bittern. The man that recently married Victoria Everglot."_

_"Yes, I know. I married them," said Pastor Galswells with a sigh. "Let's see him, then."_

_The body had already gone through rigor mortis, the fingers curled like claws. The pastor walked solemnly up to him._

_Suddenly, a curve of a cheek, the hook of the nose. Pastor Galswells pressed his eyes closer to the body's face. The lines were grimly familiar. It clicked into place._

_"You!"_

As Pastor Galswells sat on the bed, his arms felt heavy. Palms up, he slowly brought his face down. Fingers hiding his eyes, they seeped tears. A clock on the wall ticked by the minutes. He whispered incomprehensible words and phrases, only leading him into a worse state.

"I couldn't let her go," he heaved a great breath and gulped back a sob, "but she left me anyway."


	6. Chapter 5

The sun had left the sky only a few moments before the rain started to fall. It touched the glass of the window in Victor's study, sliding down, caressing the surface. The house was quiet except for a few creaks of the floorboards as Victoria walked through the rooms downstairs.

Victor busied himself with scribbling in a notebook. He wasn't paying much attention and the quill in his hand slid off of the page, the tip breaking against the wood of the desk. He looked down at the quill. Black ink seeped into the crevices of his skin.

A knock on the door.

Twisting around in his chair, he rested an arm on the back of it, his fingers lightly touching the corner. Victor cleared his throat and said, "Come in."

The knob turned and Victoria appeared on the other side of the door. A cup and saucer was held steadily in her right hand, the other hand pressed uncomfortably at her side.

"I thought that you might like some tea," she said, barely above a whisper. She lifted the teacup in her hand. Victor could see steam rolling into the air, evaporating into the cold.

Getting up from the chair, he walked towards her. Their hands touched as he took the saucer from her.

"Thank you," he said, holding the saucer in one hand and holding the handle of the teacup in another. He raised his eyebrows slightly when she didn't turn around and leave immediately like she usually did.

"I…" she started. She looked down at her hands, clasped tightly together in front of her. "I am sorry I did not go to your father's funeral."

Surprised, Victor said, "No, no. It is all right. I understood why you – "

"No!" Victoria cried, taking a step away from him. She put her hands to her ears, trying to block out what he was trying to say. Whispering, she continued, "No. I do not want you to say it."

"I wasn't – I wasn't going to say anything like that," he said, setting the tea down on a nearby shelf. "But…but we shouldn't avoid…"

"It doesn't matter," she said, quickly wiping away a stray tear. Her cheeks were flushed and the knuckles of her pale hands burned red. "There is your tea and now – "

"Wait! You can't…how can you do this? How can we go on doing this? You sit in that living room every day. Right next to what would have been her room. Charlotte's…"

Victoria's lip quivered. Taking in a ragged breath, she looked beyond Victor's shoulder, out towards the rain and the dark. It was cold outside and it pressed in around them, the house giving little shelter. Exhaling quietly, she sniffed and wiped at the edges of her eyes.

"I found your drawing book. With the butterflies, Victor," she whispered, looking back into his eyes. "_Why_?"

Looking down at the hem of her dress, Victor felt numb. His fingers twitched against the side of his coat. He could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall. The rain splattered against the window, the wind picking up and howling. He blinked. He felt his lips form the words "I do not love you" and he knew that he had said it. It was as if he was very far away. Victor thought himself as being a raindrop in the black sky, falling to his end.

Her eyes were red. Veins creeping in from the edges of her eye and pointing at the pupil. She let out a long sigh and nodded her head. Her face relaxed, she almost looked relieved. "At least we can agree on something."

She was gone before Victor even noticed her turning around. The floorboards whined underneath her feet as she slowly walked away down the stairs. The steam had stopped rising from the teacup, the liquid had turned cold.

His throat was dry and he swallowed nothing but air. He blinked.

The front door closed behind him, he could feel the rain on the top of his head. He didn't wear a coat or a scarf. The umbrella lay forgotten on the floor in the hallway. His feet took him passed a few houses, their occupants talking to each other. Laughter muffled by the walls and windows.

There was a loud noise slowly registering in Victor's mind as he walked. He could see only black and rain. Cold pierced his skin. He could hear rushing water somewhere.

Stumbling over nothing but his own feet, Victor fell forward. When the ground did not meet him immediately, he looked around him. He was falling down into something. He could see a large walkway above him and he felt encased. Dragging down lower into the river, he let out a gasp, only taking in water. It was cold and his throat clenched in pain.

And then everything went black.


	7. Chapter 6

_You silly man…_

Something hot and wet tickled at Victor's cheek. Opening his eyes, they focused on a small white skull of a dog. Its head quirked to the side and licked Victor's face again.

"Scra-" started Victor, but before he could finish the name cold water gushed up from his throat and splashed to the floor. Kneeling down, his head bowed over the shiny cobblestones, he coughed up the river water and let it splash against his white hands. There was a flickering streetlamp nearby and Victor watched as the liquid reflected the flame.

Something scratched at the back of Victor's throat. Picking up a shaking hand, he reached with slender fingers into his mouth and pulled a rather prickly oak leaf. Tossing it away, Victor slowly picked himself up and nervously smoothed out his hair which immediately became disheveled again. Small droplets of water dripped from the ends of his hair and absorbed into his already soaked overcoat.

The skeleton dog ran around his legs and yipped excitedly. Bending down, Victor patted him on the head, a slight smile on his lips. After taking his hand away, the dog barked again and ran ahead of Victor. Scraps ran to the streetlamp and wagged his tail.

Victor followed the dog along the empty streets until they reached a large hill. He wondered why he hadn't seen anyone yet. Scraps tugged at his pants collar and urged him on to a long pathway to the top of the hill. There was a building at the top that towered over Victor as he knocked on a side door.

"Come in," said a soft, withered voice.

As Victor stepped inside, Scraps refused to enter with him and lied down near the doorjamb. Walking around shelves of large volumes of books and mysterious containers of preserved animals, Victor managed to find himself in a small clearing. A tall podium stood in front of him and he could barely make out the top of a cracked skull behind the dark wood.

"Do you know where you are?" asked the top of the skull.

"No," said Victor, water slipping down the side of his mouth.

"Do you know what you are?" the skull asked.

"Well, um. I think I am Victor," he said, wringing his tie, a small stream of water escaping the cloth and landing on the wooden floor.

"It is true that you are Victor. But it also true that you are dead. And you now live here in the Land of the Dead," said the skull.

Victor could see its eyeholes and slowly he started to remember the he had once lived. He had lived in a small town in England up until his twenty-third year when he drowned in a river on a rainy night. He had a wife and she had birthed a child that had left them for this place. He also remembered white butterflies and a blue smile.

"Emily," Victor whispered. His breath almost felt warm as he exhaled the name into the dry air. He peered up towards the now visible skeletal man. "Elder Gutknecht."

"So you remember now, eh?" the skeleton said, his jaw contorting into what Victor guessed was a smile. "It usually takes longer. The journey between the living and the dead is not so easy, but you have done it before so that might explain it."

Victor stared down at his black shoes. Wiggling his toes slightly, he could feel them squish against the wet socks.

"I'm sorry to say that the water will never go away. You are going to have to get used to it, I suppose," Elder Gutknecht said, falling away from view and then reappearing at the side of the podium. Limping forward, a bony finger slid against Victor's coat sleeve. "You went down very deep."

Shaking his head slightly, Victor cleared his throat, water sputtering through his hand covering his mouth. Suddenly, a question entered his mind that would have made his throat dry had it been possible. "Is…" he started, his black eyes staring into the empty pits of Gutknecht's skull, "Is Charlotte here?"

A sigh slowly escaped through Gutknecht's jaws and he rested his hand on top of a low wooden cane. "Infants and children of innocence are taken to another place. It is true that there is only one Land, but there are many realms. We are in the realm of the Unrequited. Ones that still have ties to the living world. I am afraid you will never see her."

The harsh sound of water tapping on the floor echoed throughout the room. Victor looked down to hands. He had not noticed before, but the skin had turned the colour of living veins.

"Where is Emily?" Victor's lips felt numb as he used them to form the words.

"This is not your best of days, Victor," said Elder Gutknecht. His empty sockets almost looked saddened as they watched Victor's face. "She is gone as well."

"The butterflies. She flew into the sky. Where was she taken?" stuttered Victor, unable to get complete thoughts through his mind.

"She has gone back to the living world," the skeleton said.

"But…how is that possible? I thought she was released from the living and this…place," Victor strained to say. His chest felt tight, it was the only thing he could feel.

"It was thought by you that she would have been released from this place after the dead walked the earth that night? Victor, are you so unaware? It is true that she had let you go to Victoria, but that did not mean that she stopped her feeling for you. When one tie was cut, another formed," the skeleton leaned heavily on his cane. "Emily was in love with you."

"So, why isn't she here?" yelled Victor, his lip trembling. His quiet demeanor forgotten, Victor felt like screaming at the top of his lungs. "Why is she gone?"

"Victor, please," whispered Gutknecht, his bony hand reached up and rubbed the side of his skull. After Victor breathed in a few gulps of air and quieted down, Gutknecht continued, "Time does not often matter here. Although it does happen, we do not notice it. One moment you will see skin and muscle on your hand and then the next…" he lifted his cracked fingers up for Victor to see. "I had been working on a potion for as long as I can remember. In one of these many books in this study, I had found a recipe for life again. It was called Redivivus Serum. The liquid reincarnates your soul into a newborn child that would have otherwise died. The only catch was that you would not remember your past life…or death. It took centuries to concoct but by the time it was finished…there was Emily."

Victor looked out of the windows behind the podium. Grime covered the glass; it was almost impossible to see through.

"Emily would come to me and talk to me through the nights. Even being dead for so many years, she was still full of life. A bright energy. I cannot even remember when I lived, Victor. The Serum would have been wasted on a dead thing like me. It is only a matter of moments of time unwatched that I will begin to crumble to dust. I explained the situation to Emily and she agreed to take it after many nights of discussion. She is gone, Victor. To a world where there are no ties so tangled that you cannot get out of them. A new life."


	8. Epilogue

A chilled wind swept out from the woods beside the church. The overgrown rose bushes rustled in the breeze. A few dying petals released their grasp on the stems and fell to the ground silently. The early morning sunlight touched the soft dirt of the garden with delicate hands.

Coughing roughly, Pastor Galswells pushed open the heavy doors of the church. He wore a pair of worn brown pants and a cotton shirt. It was an outfit he had not worn for years. Walking down the steps, he walked around the side of the building and looked at the small garden. Picking up a splintered rake, he began to clean away the moldy leaves that had blown in from the forest.

As he worked, he began to sweat and he wiped at his brow. A small smile played at the edges of his mouth and it took him a while to notice it.

He worked for hours in the garden that day. When he was done, he leaned the rake against the wall and exhaled a loud breath. He was thinking about going into town the next day and buying some new plants and more gardening tools as he walked back into the church.

* * *

Victor watched Pastor Galswells close the church doors behind him. He watched the old man work in the little garden the entire time, sitting on a stone at the edge of the forest. Victor envied the man every time he wiped at his brow. The ability to sweat and to feel warm was something that Victor could barely even remember feeling. 

His blue lips set in a straight line, he turned his attention away from the closed church door and looked towards the roses. They were many different colours. White, red, orange. Victor suddenly noticed that something was moving on top of one particular white rose. Focusing his wet eyes, he saw two white wings moving up and down slowly. It was a large butterfly and as soon as Victor figured it out, it flew into the sky, lilting gracefully away into the forest.

"I think butterflies are pretty, don't you?"

Twisting his head around to see who had spoken, Victor tried to stand up at the same time but clumsily fell over instead. A trill of laughter entered his ears and suddenly, a small girl with long black hair stood over him.

"Are you alright?" she asked, a look of slight concern on her pretty face.

"You can see me?" asked Victor, picking himself up, discreetly wiping away some river water that gushed out of his mouth as he spoke.

"Of course I can, silly!" she said, standing back from him as he got up. She peered around, turning her head excitedly. "Did you see where the butterfly went off to?"

"I think it went over that way," said Victor, bewildered, pointing off towards the forest.

"Oh well. I'm going to go look for more in the garden. Do you want to help me?" the little girl asked.

She turned her blue eyes towards Victor and they held him with a tight grip. Slowly, a great relief and warmth rolled through his body. He silently shook his head towards her and watched as she ran off towards the garden. She jumped up as a new butterfly fluttered between two rose bushes and cupped the insect carefully in her hands. Victor could see that she put her lips close to her hands and she whispered to the bug inside. After a moment, she released her hands and let the butterfly go.

"Vanessa! Where are you?" cried a woman near the bridge. She walked around the church and saw the little girl playing in the garden. "Vanessa, come here right now! You are going to be late for your piano lessons with Miss Victoria and you know that she'll make you do exercises if you are, so get going!"

The girl stopped playing and ran to her mother. They began to walk back together but Vanessa broke away and turned back towards the forest.

"Goodbye! I'll see you later!" cried out Vanessa towards Victor. He waved back at her.

"Vanessa, don't you use imaginary friends as an excuse to missing your lesson. Let's go," said her mother, reaching for her daughter's sides, tickling her.

The girl laughed joyfully and waved at Victor a last time before she turned back to her mother.

Victor watched them walk across the bridge and back into town. The sun started its descent into the horizon and the clouds changed colours of orange and pink. Looking down at his hand, Victor could see that it was becoming transparent. After a few moments, his hand was completely gone. He could feel the rest of his arms disappearing and then his legs after that.

Victor felt calm and happy. He knew that he should feel afraid for what was happening to him. He knew that he must be leaving.

Before he slipped into nothingness, he thought about his wife Victoria and her laughter as they walked through the threshold of their new house. He thought about their nights together and the moments of silent embraces. He then thought about dust and the colour blue and fluttering wings. There were two women in his life and before he left he realized that he had loved them both.

* * *

Vanessa went back to the garden the next day. She looked for the funny man with wet clothes but she never found him. She continued playing in the garden and helped the pastor from the church plant some new flowers in the ground. They laughed together as they watched a pair of butterflies twirl around each other in the air. The sun shown brightly on them and Vanessa watched as the butterflies disappeared into the forest. 

The End

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you all for reading and reviewing my story! I think this is my first actually complete fanfiction story that isn't just a one shot thing. That's kind of sad. Anyway, I'm so happy so many people read this, (I love those stat counters) and I hope you guys enjoyed it. Thanks! 


End file.
